


One Question, One Answer

by YaelaTheWordsmith



Series: Pure OiDai because we need more of them [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Getting Together, Heavy Drinking, Kissing, M/M, Pining, also don't drink like oikawa does if you want your liver to retain any functionality, be safe guys and don't go home with strange people, daichi and tooru are roommates, did I mention pining? I did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23358025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaelaTheWordsmith/pseuds/YaelaTheWordsmith
Summary: A bar leads to a kiss, a kiss leads to a desperate question blurted out in the small hours of the morning. If it's answered in the light of day, it'll save both of them the heartache they've kept close for too long now - but will Tooru remember to ask again? (Prequel to part 1)
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sawamura Daichi
Series: Pure OiDai because we need more of them [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679992
Comments: 16
Kudos: 68





	One Question, One Answer

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all i'm back on that OiDai nonsense~  
> churned this out in 2 days here take it

Tooru squints at his glass for a second before shrugging and swallowing its contents in a single gulp. His head is spinning, and though he’s sitting alone at the end of the long bar, as far from the dance floor as possible, the bright lights and loud music in the club are intense enough to aggravate the fogginess in his head. The bartender is an attentive one, despite where he's sitting, and she’s served him whatever he asked for without a blink. It had been beer, first, and then a glass or two of whisky, and it’s now his fifth - or sixth? - serving of rum and coke. He usually wouldn't drink half this heavily, but it’s been a fucking exhausting week, and he had the cash, so he figured it couldn’t really hurt. He’s made Daichi come with him, anyway, so he doesn’t have to worry about getting back to their flat safe.

Good old dependable Daichi. He snorts, turning his bleary gaze to the dance floor, where Daichi’s struggling to get out of the hold of a clearly inebriated and equally enthusiastic Kuroo. And if Kuroo’s here, that means Bokuto can’t be far away, and _that_ means that Daichi probably won’t be back to heckle him for another twenty minutes at least.

Good old dependable Daichi. Daichi with his unwavering strength, and unbelievable confidence in what he can do, and this drive that lights up his eyes with the kind of flame Tooru sees only in his mirror. Daichi with the unfairly endearing grin, with the unfairly sexy jawline, with the unfairly strong hands that give the best fucking shoulder massages on the planet. Daichi with utterly unfairly kind warmth in his smile when he hands Tooru coffee that would give an elephant a heart attack after he’s pulled his fourth all nighter in a week. Daichi who he might have been crushing on for a few months now.

 _Pining over is more like it_ , says a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Iwa-chan, and he groans and buries his head in his arms on the bar counter as the bartender sets a refill in front of him. 

“It’s just a crush,” he mumbles to himself. “I’ll get over it.”

 _Just ask him already, it’s_ _not that hard._

“Shut up, Iwa-chan. If I wanna pine, let me pine.”

“You okay there?”

He lifts his head, blinking. There’s a stranger sitting next to him, giving him a faintly amused look. He looks like he’s in his early thirties. He’s wearing a fairly typical Japanese salaryman suit, but even drunk half off his ass Tooru can tell that it’s quality make, and if this guy is wearing it to a nightclub like this, he must have plenty more at home. He has a goatee, and piercing eyes, and a face that’s just short of handsome but is still quite nice to look at.  
  
“Uh, yup,” Tooru says, trying to marshal some form of ordered thought. “ ‘M good.”

“You look like you had a rough day.” The guy takes a sip from his glass, and Tooru has a brief vision of him doing the same in some fancy penthouse office with a bunch of similarly dressed CEO types, all of them talking about serious business things as they look out onto the night skyline. That’s by far a more appropriate setting for him than this place.

“You could say that, yeah.” Tooru notices, with some pride, that he’s barely even slurring.

“Same here. It’s been a hell of a week, actually.”

“Mmhm, me too.”

“Exams, huh? You look like a college kid.”

“Not exams, but yeah, had a whole lotta shitty submissions this week.”

The man regards him over the top of his glass, his lips curving as he watches Tooru. “Why shitty?”

“Big. Detailed. ‘N shitty professors who assign it -” Tooru’s mouth twists bitterly. “ - fucking _forty percent_ of my overall grade. Forty percent for a fifteen page report that took me like. Three weeks to do.”

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say that the vast majority of these fifteen pages were written in the last couple nights of those three weeks.”

Tooru is surprised into a half laugh. “Yeah, something like that. So why was your week bad?”

The man shrugs, pensively clinking the ice in the bottom of his glass. “I’m stuck working a job I’m not particularly interested in, one where I have to hang around people I don't particularly like and act like I like them a lot. This week was more irritating than usual, and I just realised about - oh, maybe half an hour ago - that I’ve been stuck there for five years. Hence, you see me here.”

“That sucks. Pays well though?”

“Oh, very well. And I despise it.”

“Sorry.”

The man shrugs again, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Why’d you come here, though? Would’ve figured it would’ve been nicer to drink in a quiet bar.”

The man tilts his head slightly, looking at him. “You’re not quite as drunk as I thought you were, are you? I came here because the last thing I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts. And also because it’s one of the few places I know that’s open to everyone.”

“What do you mean, open to -” Tooru begins, and then catches sight of the silver tie pin the guy is wearing. There’s a colourful smudge at one end, and when he squints at it it reveals itself to be a tiny, painted rainbow flag.

“Oh,” he says, and the guy laughs, leaning an elbow on the counter and smiling down at him fully for the first time.

“Exactly. Does it bother you?”

Tooru snorts. “I’m no different.”

“Mm, I had a feeling.” The man sets his empty glass down, and his gaze turns thoughtful for a second before he says, “So, do you want to come home with me?”

Tooru had just taken a swig of his drink, and he coughs at exactly the wrong moment. “Excuse me?” he wheezes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The man hands him a couple of napkins. “I said, would you like to come home with me?”

“Why?” Tooru says stupidly. The man sighs softly, takes the napkins out of his limp hand, and begins to dab at his face for him.

“I don’t think you can come up with a very wide range of reasons for me asking you to come home with me.”  
  
“You’re - you were - uh, cruising?”

“I was, yes. Whisky doesn’t go very far in helping me forget how much I hate my life right now, but -” Those penetrating eyes flick down and up once as he tosses the napkins aside. “I feel like you might.”

Tooru looks back, because he can’t really think of what else to do. He realises that the man looks deceptively slim, and in fact has shoulders whose width hints at a good build under that nice suit. He doesn’t feel particularly unsafe right now, this guy seems pretty nice, but he’s not so far gone that he doesn’t realise that that means absolutely nothing for the state he might be in at the end of the night. He definitely can’t go anywhere without telling Daichi, without getting a phone number and an address to find him at in case things go wrong. Those can be faked, though, and he’s never done anything like this before. Besides, it doesn’t seem like a great idea to start when he’s this drunk.

Looking at the man, though, he can kind of imagine what it might be like. He can imagine those hands pushing him down into a plush bed, probably with really good sheets, in some expensive highrise apartment in a posh gated complex. He can imagine that mouth on his, he can imagine what that goatee would feel like against his skin as kisses are pressed down his neck, and - is he actually considering this?

He’s actually considering this. It’s not unattractive, what he can picture, and the man is looking at him with a certain kind of experienced appreciation, like a connoisseur looking at a painting, and he’s never had this kind of attention before. It’s somehow more intoxicating than all the alcohol he’s had tonight - it certainly sounds better than going to sleep and dreaming longing dreams about his flatmate.  
  
He laughs, surprising both of them, and the man’s gaze turns quizzical.

“I don’t even know your name,” he says, grinning muzzily, and the man smiles.

“That can be remedied. I’m -”

“Oikawa, hey!” Daichi is suddenly leaning over his shoulder, panting slightly and sweating from the dance floor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be gone for so long.” 

“Hey,” Tooru says, torn between exasperation, relief, and a certain indignation that Daichi chose this particular moment to show up. Also why is he standing so close? His cologne does floaty things to the pit of Tooru’s stomach on the best of days, and he doesn’t need it compounding the effect of so much alcohol.

“Made a friend while I was gone?” Daichi’s smile is perfectly pleasant, but he sounds a little cold, and Tooru can’t for the life of him think why.

“Oikawa and I were just having a chat about how shitty our lives have been recently,” the man says easily, like he knew Tooru’s name the whole time, like he hadn’t just invited him back to his house for sex. “He looked somewhat forlorn, drinking all by himself, and I thought I might give him some company.” 

“That was kind of you,” Daichi says, in the same pleasant tone.

The amusement in the man’s eyes deepens as he looks at Daichi. “Not particularly. To be honest, I saw a singularly beautiful boy sitting alone and depressed, and thought I might as well while away some time with a little cordial conversation.” Daichi’s hand tightens on Tooru’s shoulder, just a little. “But if I’d known he had someone with him, I wouldn’t have, of course.”

“Right,” Daichi says. “Well, we’ll be leaving now, it’s getting fairly late. Sorry to have to cut your conversation short.”

“Not at all,” the man says politely, rising. “It was a pleasure.” He winks at Tooru, a brief flicker of one eyelid. “Don’t give your boyfriend too much trouble, young man.”

Tooru’s mouth drops open, but the man has already left. There’s a sigh next to his ear, and he looks up at Daichi, whose rigid smile softens as their gazes meet.

“You’re nothing but trouble,” he says, pulling him to his feet. “Pay your tab, and let’s get out of here.”

They don’t talk much on the way back to their flat. Daichi seems to be preoccupied, and Tooru’s head is horribly fuzzy. He’s so tired of thinking, and all he wants to do is sleep and give his brain some rest and just forget the entire night. When they step inside, though, Tooru barely waits until the front door is shut before reaching out to grasp Daichi’s wrist. There’s one thing he can’t let go, one thing he can’t go to bed without figuring out.

Daichi pushes his shoes to the side with one foot before turning to face him enquiringly, not seeming particularly surprised by the grip on his wrist. “What is it?”

Tooru leans back against their front door, wishing his head wasn’t spinning quite so badly. “He called you my boyfriend.”

Daichi is silent for a moment, and when he speaks, it’s not the explanation Tooru had expected he would provide. “Who was he, Oikawa?”

“I don’t know,” Tooru says, frowning in an effort of memory. “I never got his name. He was, um, cruising.”

Daichi’s eyes flash to his face in the gloom of their dark apartment. “He was - he actually tried to pick you up, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit. Guess I turned up in the nick of time.” 

“I mean . . .” Tooru lets his head tilt back against the door. “He didn’t look too bad. Didn’t seem too bad either, as a person.”

“You would have gone with him?”  
  
It’s the quietest he’s heard Daichi the whole night. “I - no. No, it would have been a stupid thing to do, I guess. But I thought about it, yeah.”

He feels Daichi take a step closer. “Why?”

“I can’t remember,” he says, and he honestly can’t remember why it had seemed like a good idea at the time. All he can remember is the way the man had looked at him, and the way it had made him feel less lonely, the way it had made him feel _wanted_ , when he’d been feeling so very alone. But this doesn’t seem like a smart thing to tell Daichi. “I can’t remember why.”

He looks back down. Daichi's eyes are suddenly soft in the way they were that one time he found Tooru crying in the bathroom because he was missing home. Compassion, that’s what it is, and there’s something aching as well, something Tooru can’t identify.

“Let’s go to sleep,” is all Daichi says. “It’s really late.”

He tugs his arm back, but Tooru doesn’t let go of his wrist.

“He called you my boyfriend.” he says again. “Why?”

“Why is this important?” Daichi sighs. “Of everything that happened tonight -”

“It’s important to me.”

There’s silence. Tooru counts eight ticks from the tiny clock in the kitchen before Daichi says, “Because I came up to you when you two were talking and acted - well, a little possessive. I guess how a boyfriend would act.”

“Why?”

“You won't even remember this in the morning, Oikawa.”

“Don’t tell me what I will and won’t remember.”

“I know you won’t -”

“Why, Daichi?”

“ _Because_ ,” Daichi says, and Tooru can hear some frustration now. “Because it looked like he was trying to pick you up, and you were drunk as hell, and it didn’t seem like a good thing to happen, okay? I’m sorry if you wanted it, but you know it wouldn’t have -”

“If I hadn’t been drunk, you wouldn’t have stopped me?”

Daichi’s mouth parts uncertainly, and he - he looks so vulnerable in that split second that Tooru’s mind just goes blank. He leans down, and kisses him.

It’s clumsy, of course, and he probably tastes - and smells - really badly of alcohol, but Daichi doesn’t seem to care. He’s completely still for a second, and it’s as Tooru is pulling back that he steps forward, settles a hand on Tooru’s cheek, tilts his face slightly, and kisses back. He kisses Tooru like someone parched stepping into a thunderstorm - with craving tempered by an edge of reverence, like he can’t believe what he’s doing, like he can’t believe his luck. He kisses Tooru so deep, pushing him back inexorably into the door, that whatever senses Tooru was left in possession of fly out of his head.

They break apart with a gasp that’s too loud in the stillness of their apartment. Daichi stays where he is for a moment, pressed against Tooru from chest to ankle, still with his hand cupping Tooru’s cheek. Then he moves back, moves away, with a whispered “Fuck, what am I doing -”

“Daichi, wait -”

“Go to _bed_ , Tooru.” Daichi’s voice cracks. He’s already halfway across the hall.

“Daichi, be my boyfriend!” Tooru says desperately, stepping forward, searching blindly in the darkness, his heart pounding in his chest. “For real! Please, I want - will you -”

He sees Daichi silhouetted in the doorway to his room. “Ask me again tomorrow, and we’ll see,” Daichi says, and Tooru can hear the smile in his voice, but there’s something too close to heartbreak in there too.

Daichi’s door closes. Tooru stands looking at it for a long time before he goes to his own room, crashes onto the bed, and blacks out.

⸶⸷

Tooru’s still sleeping when Daichi steps into their apartment at four o’clock the next evening. He’s curled up on the couch, though, not in his bed, so he must have come out to make himself lunch. Daichi briefly looks into his room before heading to his own, and sees that the painkillers he’d left next to the bed are gone.

He closes his room door behind him with a sigh, rubbing his forehead. Hopefully Tooru will be feeling fine when he wakes up - only a hangover can make him miss a whole day of classes, that’s how bad they hit him, but it usually doesn’t take more than half a day for him to get over it. As for what he’ll remember . . .

He dumps his backpack on his bed with a thud. All he’d been able to hear today, the whole goddamn day, was _Daichi, be my boyfriend!_ All he’d been able to see was Tooru’s half-lost expression when he’d said _I can’t remember why_. All he’d been able to think about was how willingly he’d opened his mouth when Daichi had kissed him back.

But he shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have. It’s bad enough that respect and reluctant admiration for that insane determination and drive had bloomed into attraction over the years he’d known Oikawa Tooru. It’s worse that they ended up sharing accommodation in college and that he’s had to live in close quarters with him for almost a year now. But the worst thing is that despite knowing full well that Tooru doesn’t feel like that about him, he still can’t bring himself to abandon hope entirely. Tooru laughs at him, scolds him, teases him, even opens up to him sometimes, but he doesn’t flirt with him the way Daichi has seen him flirt with so many other people. With the old lady across from him in the bus, with the cashier at the convenience store, with his prettiest classmates and with his oldest teachers - Tooru flirts with the world, lightly, playfully, and indiscriminately. 

But he’s never once flirted with Daichi, not once in the many months they’ve been living together. He’s too normal, probably, too staid for someone who’s so - so beautiful, so incredible in so many ways. He couldn’t ask for a clearer sign of Tooru’s disinterest. And yet, when he’d said _Be my boyfriend! Please -_

Daichi buries his head in his hands with a groan. Butterflies invade his stomach and flutter all the way up to his throat every time he remembers that moment.

 _He was drunk,_ he tells himself firmly. _He was drunk, and lonely, and I was around, I was there for him, and that’s why he said it. Don’t you dare read into it. Things are going to stay just the same as they were before._

He pushes Tooru out of his mind as much as he can, and pulls out his laptop and a notebook. Only about two out of the next two and a half hours are spent on actually working, which isn’t too bad of a lapse, not when he’d basically gone through half his morning classes like a zombie. He stretches at the end, yawning, and changes into an old T-shirt and a baggy pair of tracks before getting up to go to the kitchen to see if they have any instant ramen left or if he’ll have to go down to the college cafeteria for dinner.

He glances at the couch when he steps out of his room, and freezes as he realizes that Tooru is sitting up in the dim light, his hair all mussed up as he rubs at his eyes.

“Hey,” Daichi says, managing to keep the sudden trepidation out of his voice. _Will he remember? Will he ask?_

“Hey,” Tooru says, blinking sleepily at him.

Daichi crosses the hall to the kitchen, opening one of the cupboards as he says, “Slept well?”

“Mmhm, yeah. Thanks for the painkillers.”

“No problem. Are you okay now?”

“Yep, good as new.”

Daichi puts a packet of instant ramen on the counter, turning to look for a saucepan. He almost wishes he’d had the excuse of going to the cafeteria to avoid this, but it would have looked weird if he left right when Tooru woke up. 

“Daichi?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for coming with me last night. I know it’s not really your scene.”

Daichi smiles briefly at him before filling the saucepan with water. “It’s fine. I don’t mind, once in a while.” _So he doesn’t remember? He doesn’t, right? If he did, wouldn’t it be the first thing he’d ask?_

“I’ll drag Bokkun with me next time - oh wait, was he there? I think I remember . . .”

Daichi sets the saucepan on the stove and glances back briefly at Tooru. He’s frowning, staring vaguely at the blank wall opposite. 

“He was there, yeah. Kuroo was too.” Daichi takes a breath, lets it out, and asks the fatal question. “You don’t remember much of last night?”

“Not really. It’s kind of coming back, but it’s fuzzy.” Daichi, shaking the flavouring over the ramen, hears him shift restlessly on the couch behind him. “Is there something I should remember?”

“Not really. You drank a lot more than you’re used to, so it’s not surprising you don’t recall much. You tend to forget stuff when you drink half that much, anyway.”

“Rude,” Tooru says, but there’s not much trace of his usual mock petulance in his tone. “I remember beer first, and rum later - was there whisky in between?”

“There was,” Daichi says, turning to face him and leaning against the counter. “Kuroo caught me at your third rum and coke.”

Tooru winces slightly. “God. Yeah, I remember seeing you dancing - or trying not to dance, I guess. Kuroo and Bokkun, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You drank too, didn’t you?”

“I just had the beer with you. It pretty much faded by the time I managed to escape from the dance floor.”

“Hah. Yeah, I -” His eyes dart to Daichi’s, a suddenly arrested look in them. “I remember you coming up to me. I remember . . . there was some guy sitting next to me, someone in a suit. I - was talking to him?”

“You were,” Daichi says, as evenly as he can.

Tooru goes quiet, looking down at his lap. Daichi watches him for a second before pulling out a couple of carrots from the fridge and starting to chop them into small circles. It’s as he’s tipping the last of them into the bubbling water that Tooru says, “He asked me to go home with him.”

It’s said almost curiously. Daichi switches the flame off, covers the saucepan. “So you told me.”

“Huh.”

 _And you almost went_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites the words back, instead busying himself washing the cutting board and the knife before moving on to the other dishes that have been left in the sink.

“I kind of expected cruising to happen - well, I don’t know, more shadily.” Tooru’s tone has shifted to musing. “He was pretty polite. Kinda high class.”

“Yeah?” Daichi sets three forks aside to dry.

“Yeah . . . he asked about exams, assignments. And he told me a little about himself. Just small talk, but he seemed - I don’t know, genuine somehow.”

An unexpected worry raises its head, and Daichi looks over his shoulder quickly. “Did you tell him anything about yourself? Where you live, where you study?”

Tooru’s still looking down at his lap, and there’s a faint smile on his mouth that nettles Daichi. “No. I’m sure of that. I didn’t even tell him my name.”

“He called you Oikawa when I was there.”

“Because you said it first.” Tooru looks up at him. “He wouldn’t have known otherwise.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Daichi turns back to the sink, picking up the morning’s frying pan to scrub. Something about that slightly wistful smile is making tears prickle against his eyelids. _He was that good to you, that stranger in the club?_ “That’s good, then.”

“I don’t think he was a bad guy.”

“If you’re into one night stands, that’s fine. I’m not saying anything against it.” _Are you so lonely that you’ll go home with anyone? I thought you’ve been fine for months now, I thought you were doing okay. Was I wrong? Or was it just the thrill that you wanted?_

“But you disapprove.”

 _What could that man give you that anyone you know on campus can’t, Tooru? That_ **_I_ ** _can’t?_

“No. Just - if you were thinking straight, it would have been fine, I guess. But you weren’t in the right frame of mind for that, even if he was a good guy.”

“Yeah. Even in that state, I knew it’d be a bad idea. I don’t think he’d have done anything, but thanks for getting me out of it.”

“No problem.” 

“But if I hadn’t been drunk, you wouldn’t have stopped me?”

It’s said lightly, teasingly, not remotely similar to how it had been said last night - last night it had been insistent, almost desperate - but the pan slips from Daichi’s fingers regardless. The clang echoes through the apartment, and he catches it quickly.

“Sorry,” he says. “Uh, I guess not, if you seemed to have enough control over the situation.”

Tooru doesn’t reply. Daichi doesn’t turn around either, trying to focus on getting a stubborn stain off the bottom of the pan. It’s only half faded when he hears the sound of Tooru getting up from the couch, his footsteps padding towards him.

Goosebumps ripple up the back of his neck, and apprehensive anticipation puts a lump in his throat. He can say nothing, do nothing, except continue to scrub mechanically as the footsteps come nearer.

“I asked you that before, didn’t I?” It’s a murmur. “Last night.”

Daichi keeps his eyes trained on the bright steel of the pain, and clears his throat once, twice. “You did.”

Another long pause, almost unbearable, before he says, “It’s coming back to me, now.”

Daichi gives up on the pan and sets it aside, letting his head fall forward a little as he stares at the drain. “What is?”

“Daichi, can you look at me?”

He doesn’t move. He thinks he might be sick from how hard his heart is beating in his throat. God, it was almost easier before their first Nationals match. If Tooru remembers, and asks him - no. No way that’ll happen. But if - if he remembers, and _doesn’t_ ask him -

“Please, Daichi.”

It’s soft, pleading. Daichi takes a shaky breath, and turns to look at him. Tooru is leaning against the wall barely two feet away, the fingers of one hand twisting in the hem of his overlarge sweater, a painful question in his eyes. He looks haggard, his eyes still a little red from sleep, his complexion much paler than usual, his hair with nothing of its usual lustre - and still so unfairly handsome. He bites his lip as Daichi meets his gaze and takes a step forward, reaching out with one hand.

“This - this is me - asking,” he says haltingly. “Would you be my - my boyfriend?”

Daichi reaches out without thinking, happiness leaping in his chest; but he stops himself, leaving his fingertips hovering just over Tooru’s palm, and looks up at him.

“If -” He swallows. “If you’re sure that you want - that last night wasn’t a mistake, an - an accident -”

Tooru grips his wrist and tugs him forward, hard. Daichi stumbles with a yelp, cannoning into him to be supported by a strong arm around his waist.

“I’m sure,” Tooru says, looking down at him with laughing eyes. “So yes or no?”

Daichi puts a hand on the back of his neck, drags him down, and kisses him fiercely. Tooru responds eagerly, keeping his arms wound tight around Daichi’s waist. They break apart only after a good minute or so, both panting slightly. 

“ ‘If you’re sure it wasn’t an accident’, he says,” Tooru says, nipping gently at the side of his neck. “Of all the stupid things to say -”

“Shut up,” Daichi laughs, tipping his head to the side obligingly. “I just wanted to make sure, okay? I’ve been -”

He stops short, but Tooru, of course, isn’t one to let go of something like that easily. “You’ve been?” he says, kissing his collarbone.

“I’ve - been waiting a long time, that’s all.”

“How long?”

Of everything, this is what makes Daichi’s cheeks go red hot. “Um -”

Tooru pulls back to look at him, an eyebrow lifting slightly when he sees the look on Daichi’s face. He traces a path over Daichi’s cheekbone with one finger, outlining the blush. “I’ve never seen you look like this,” he murmurs, half in delight. “God - how long, Daichi?”

And Daichi hasn’t ever heard his name said like that, in that coaxing, loving voice, and he can’t be blamed for going a little weak at the knees. It slips out before he can stop it. “For - more than a year now. Since - since your last match against Shiratorizawa.”

Tooru’s eyes widen, incredulous and - Daichi had expected a hint of gratification, but there’s only dismay. “Since - ?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” Daichi mumbles, staring at his collar. “Just - you were amazing in that match. I had a lot of respect for you already, but that day was - you looked - you were incredible. And then we played you, for the Spring High, and you were even more unbelievable, and - yeah.”

A finger gently tips his chin up, and he looks up reluctantly into the most tender expression he’s ever seen on Tooru’s face. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Daichi’s mouth. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“No, but I know what that feels like, pining for someone when - when you think they don’t want you. And you, you of all people, shouldn't have had to go through that.”

“Why me of all people?”

“You’re -” It’s his turn to have trouble speaking, his cheeks that go dark now. “You’re so - you’re such a good person, Daichi. Just, like - thoroughly kind, and good, and one of the best people I’ve ever known. I’d have never wanted to hurt you, even unintentionally.”

Daichi is smiling so much he feels like his cheeks might split, and he reaches up to kiss Tooru soundly. “Don’t worry,” he says, holding his face in both hands. “I think you’ve definitely made up for it.”

“Yeah?” Tooru turns to press a kiss to his palm, grinning. “You wanna go to my room and make up for a little more?”

Daichi bursts into laughter. “Unbelievable - you utterly, utterly shameless -”

“I’m not hearing a no!”

Daichi kisses him again, and again, and again, and finally pulls back to leave him looking pleasantly dazed. “I’m all yours, Tooru,” he smiles. 

Tooru goes red almost to the roots of his hair, and buries his face in Daichi’s shoulder. Daichi kisses the side of his head, happier than he can remember being in months and so, so grateful for everything that ever led him to meet Oikawa Tooru.

**Author's Note:**

> i always appreciate feedback!! leave a work if u cheered for these boys hehe  
> Again, Tumblr is [here](https://yaelathewordsmith.tumblr.com/) and Twitter is[here](https://twitter.com/writer_yaela) to yell about hq and for comm info :3


End file.
